Tick Tock, Heartbeat
by Kaiyote
Summary: “Though I'm afraid you won't have time to put all of the pieces back together again.” Set after Fallout.


**If you want to read a better-formatted version, please go to my Fanfiction Livejournal _theblackmonster._**

**A/N:** _Tick tock my heartbeat_. Y'know, because everyone wants Sylar to invade their dreams and show them things they don't want to see. (Except not.) Oh, and I don't know if Sylar can actually invade dreams or anything, but in this he can. (Oh, and the title and _tick tock my heartbeat_ come from _Love is like Clock Law_ by Gary Numan.)

Also, this fic has vague spoilers for _Fallout_, so, if you don't like spoilers and haven't seen the episode, then you _probably_ shouldn't read this.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes.

**Warnings: **Character Death. So, if that freaks you out, then please, don't read this. I really don't want to freak you out.

**Tick Tock, Heartbeat**

* * *

It feels like _Alice in Wonderland_.

It feels like falling down a rabbit hole with no possible ending in sight. This kind of falling takes a lifetime, more than that, from beginning until end. It feels like this falling takes more than he can give.

It takes forever.

_Clocks tick. Clocks tock._

The fall ends.

He isn't sure if he ever reaches the ground.

A man stands before him, smiles at him, darkly. The man almost glows, almost shines in the darkness that surrounds the both of them. It's hard to tell where one space ends, where the next space begins.

Maybe it's all the same.

Images flicker past the both of them as the smile vanishes.

Some images seem to stay as long as the fall took, some pass by faster than he can even begin to blink. The shadows within the images are darker than they should be, as if the shadows are alive, craving. They want more.

But they are, only shadows, after all.

The smile reappears, an image stops. The rest flicker and fade away.

_Peter_.

Eyes wide, glassy. Mouth, gaping open. Lips pale, splatters of red. _There's so much blood_. He doesn't move, even though it _is_ only an image. Only a picture, he doesn't move. There's nothing there, within the picture. Lifeless. Empty.

Gone.

The man only smiles wider, teeth flashing, briefly.

_"Little brother dies, you don't save him."_

He wants to yell, scream, _destroy_ everything and everyone. Especially the man. Peter doesn't die. Not _his_ Peter, and not like that. Not like that. _He won't allow it_. He doesn't move at all.

He can't.

_"I've left all the pieces for you."_

The image flickers then, only for a moment, just a moment. He isn't even quite sure it does so. Then it stops, moves faster like the images before had moved. From the motion of the colors moving in the image he can tell it moves backwards.

Rewinds.

_"Though I'm afraid you won't have time to put all of the pieces back together again."_

Stops.

The image slowly moves from one image to another. It no longer moves backwards through time, it now moves forward. He watches, he cannot turn his head, he cannot look away. A silent horror movie.

He watches his brother die.

_"Don't worry, Nathan, you'll be with little brother soon."_

The dream ends in flashes of pictures that move far too fast for his eyes to follow. Blurring and dizzying colors of light and dark, deepening shades of growing shadows.

He wishes he would wake up screaming.

He doesn't.

"Poor little brother, not special enough, then far too special to continue on. Poor Nathan, you could never save anyone. Not yourself, and especially not little brother."

The man in front of him smiles too widely, more dreamlike than the actual dream had ever been. Not even remotely close to that which a human could, or would, smile. He could close his eyes, he could turn away.

To do so, he knows he would only see Peter, the images that flickered in his dream. Lifeless, empty. Gone, forever.

This, he knows, to be true.

The man doesn't move.

"But don't worry, you'll be with him soon, and then you won't need to anymore."

He doesn't close his eyes.

It feels like dreams could last forever, and he doesn't have to worry about falling for far too long, farther than possible. Farther than he ever wants to fall. He wouldn't have to worry about waking up after such dreams.

Something breaks apart, pieces shattering as they fall onto the floor. It feels like never being able to put something back together again, and not wanting or caring to.

It feels like a clock somewhere, stops.


End file.
